Stars
by difficile
Summary: Vaan glanced at Balthier. "Will we go there, to the Cerobi Steppe?" he asked, caring less about stars and more about the moonlight painting curves against Balthier's back. Balthier grinned at Vaan. "But of course. The stars are the brightest there."


Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy XII.

Author's Notes: ...Holy crap. Hi. What. Here you go. I hope you like it. Please review. I don't know if Im continuing this or not; oneshots are mostly my forte and this was written on a complete whim and went where it did due to improvisation at 4 in the morning. aw yeah. let's do this.

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Stars

Vaan bit through the chapped skin of his lower lip until the tip of his tongue sampled the taste of blood. He would not whimper, he would not whimper, he would _not_—

"Oh, do stop your whimpering, you sound much like a fledgling chocobo. I forewarned you this would sting." Balthier's voice chastised the desert child's behavior and Vaan was half-tempted to spit the small droplets of blood at the pompous pirate. The stinging in Vaan's arm was nearly unbearable and Balthier's attitude wasn't helping his situation in the slightest. Again, Balthier applied the sticky pressure of cactuar ointment over the four gashes messily adorning the length of Vaan's arm, and dared to squeeze.

"Ahh-! Hey, stop _squeezing_ it!" Vaan snapped, head whipping down to see Balthier withdraw from the wound with a huff. The damp handkerchief Balthier held was crusting in the unbearable desert sun; the ointment was drying up quickly, as was the pirate's patience, judging by his exasperated sigh. Vaan gazed up as Balthier rose from his kneeling position, and allowed the older man's shadow to merger with the tree of the oasis, and loom over his own hunched, wounded form. The handkerchief Balthier was holding through his sand-crusted, gunpowder-speckled hands floated down to the orphan's lap and Vaan gazed at it quizzically as he sorely rubbed the surrounding flesh of the wound.

"It's your own bloody fault you allowed those Worgens to surround you. There are no benefit in straying to fight the pack, as you can clearly see from your situation now. For all we know, that rare mark the damn petitioner assigned us is long gone on this side of the Nebra."

If Vaan had fur, much like the Worgens he allowed to get the best of him, it would be standing on one end. Here he was, bleeding, sweating, and staggeringly low on health, and all that stupid, pompous pirate could talk about was a mark! It was then that Vaan chose to spit a wad of blood from his mouth, a result of the pressure against his lips from his sharp teeth, and he stood quickly to face Balthier. The older man towered a few inches above Vaan, but that did not stop the Rabanastran from locking a glare with Balthier's smirking eyes, a glare as hot and unwavering as the sun above the Westersand.

"_Don't_," Vaan started, "don't you dare make it look like it was my fault, Balthier." His blonde brow furrowed deeply and he wanted to punch that deadpan demeanor Balthier masked himself with, as if he couldn't care less, and maybe he couldn't. Maybe that's what made it worse. Vaan let out a puff of dry air from his chapped, teeth-rutted lips, and suddenly felt very tired. Balthier's hand on his shoulder was heavier than the younger male expected, and before Vaan knew it he was being eased back down to the ground.

"Tut tut, Vaan. You're in no shape as of yet to be giving me any of that street-smart lip service you're so fond of. As for myself, I'm in no mood to argue a moot point. You let the Worgens get the best of—"

"I didn't_ let_ anything—"

"Has Ashelia taught you nothing about interrupting?" Balthier retorted, and Vaan sharply took in a frustrated breath, shutting his eyes tightly; another surge of pain ignited the jagged wounds lining his bronzed skin. "Forgive me that I cannot seem to appease you with anything I say, but Vaan, you're in no shape as of yet to be even standing."

Vaan would have argued further had he not been submersed suddenly in a fit of lethargy. In a begrudging surrender, Vaan allowed his eyes to close again and stay that way. He was too hot, his wounds stung too badly, and the sun seemed too close for comfort. The desert never seemed to bother Vaan before; he was a child of the sands, but he could only last so long.

"The ointment I've been trying to ease into your wound will make you drowsy and dizzy, as if this bloody Dalmascan sun wasn't enough to do so," Balthier continued to talk and Vaan's frustration soon simmered down into submission; he found a strange sort of comfort in the sound of Balthier's voice, so he allowed the pirate to continue his talk, for it seemed Balthier enjoyed the sound of his own voice just as much as Vaan did at that moment."A shame we're not skilled in white magicks," Balthier mused aloud, resituating himself upon the sands and allowing Vaan's heavy form to lean against his own. Vaan's eyes were closed but he could feel the movements of Balthier running his ringed fingers through his own spiked hair, likely sweaty and sticky. Vaan's cheek rested against the white cloth of Balthier's collared shirt and it smelled like sand and gunpowder and sweat… it smelled sweet and comforting and like Balthier. Vaan further relaxed into the fabric and made some noise of acknowledgement towards the pirate's comment. "Perhaps the princess and your Penelo could teach us some tricks of the trade when we reunite with them, after this damned hunt."

Vaan grunted. "Shoulda…br't 'em w'th us…" he managed to squeeze out; now even his lips felt tired with the effect of the ointment and his wound. Balthier chuckled dryly.

"We do seem to need them more than we give those ladies credit for, hm?" the pirate replied. He received no answer, and looked down to see Vaan fast asleep against his shoulder. A small smile stretched at the seam of the Archadian's lips, and he watched absently as he sifted his ringed fingers through Vaan's tousled sun-bleached hair. The vibrant colors of his rings – pink, green, gold, blue – looked like exotic jewels hidden in the sands of the desert, and at that moment Balthier remembered how many layers there are to the desert, as there were to the young boy slumbering against him.

_I will give him time to rest_, thought the pirate, b_ut there is still a damned mutant Slavin roaming among these cliffs and dunes_…

* * *

Vaan awoke against a surface far different than the soft fabric he fell asleep against. The oasis tree felt hard against his face and he had no recollection of how long he'd been sleeping but he still felt absolutely miserable. The piercing sting in his arm from the Worgens had subsided to a dull ache throughout the course of his short rest, and for that Vaan was grateful. However, the urge to vomit and the constant dizziness had not left his system yet and before he knew what was coming, he was retching the remains of a starfruit he had eaten before his mutual hunt with Balthier. The taste was stale and rancid and bitter on its way back up, and despite the horrid sound wrenching themselves from Vaan's mouth from the base of his gut, hardly anything but clear juice trickled from his agape mouth.

"Oh… That's no good," Balthier said from his standing point nearby. He was in the process of organizing the pack of supplies the two had brought across the Nebra river but Vaan's wakeup call to vomit required the pirate's concerned but unwilling attention. I didn't realize I'd be babysitting when pairing with this boy… he thought to himself. Vaan was on his hands and knees against the cooling desert sand and heaved his last round before collapsing to the side with a groan. Balthier's lip curled in slight distaste of the whole situation. "You were dehydrated and hungry; had you eaten nothing before our trek, Vaan?" Balthier asked. Vaan groaned again, clenching his arm. He wanted to go back to Rabanastre. This hunt was stupid, this desert was stupid, and Balthier's questions were stupid.

"I'll take that as a no, then…" Stupid boy, Balthier wanted to add, but he figured that Vaan was in no mood to verbally spar… and if he were, Balthier was certainly in no mood to have vomit in his face as a result.

"…This sucks," Vaan managed to murmur once he caught his breath and his stomach didn't feel like it was in a thousand Balfonheim sailor knots.

"How profound," Balthier replied, giving Vaan a slight pat on the back. "The sun is setting soon, Vaan… we have two choices on our hands – we can take the last ferry back over the Nebra and stay the night at the nomad village… or we may pitch our tent here for the night."

Vaan was silent as he weighed the options. They were out of potions and he was hungry and thirsty; both pirate and thief were poorly prepared for this hunt, and Vaan knew the nomad village had comfortable beds and food for fellow wanderers, as well as protection from fiends due to the location. With more effort than he would care to admit to, Vaan sat up and thought nothing of the sand stuck to his face. "The nomad village, we should go now. Freaky things come outta this desert at night."

"Can you manage?" Balthier asked, grabbing the pack of nearly useless supplies – antidotes, softs, phoenix downs, some gil… nothing that could be of aid to either of them, and Balthier was starting to feel the nag of hunger as well. He had originally planned to hunt with Vaan for their evening meal but that was certainly out of the question, and Vaan's current state made the pirate feel weary about leaving the boy while he went off to hunt, alone, in the Westersand at late dusk.

"Yeah, I … I can manage, let's go."

Balthier watched in silence as Vaan attempted to scramble up. Predicting the boy's stagger, the pirate stepped forward and caught Vaan before the boy gave way to a surge of dizziness again. The ferry by the shore of the Nebra was not too far, and balthier realized with some embarrassment that hardly any progress was made for that afternoon. _No matter_, he thought, as he and Vaan began their walk southwards, _I care not for this hunt of child's play, anyway._

"How do you think the others are doing?" Vaan asked several minutes later, when Baltheir could scarcely see the wavering reflection of dying light upon the Nebra from afar. The pirate did not give the question much thought; the others were safe in Rabanastre, sleeping in the beds of his airship, with clean clothes and full bellies and good wine. He huffed.

"I'm sure they are managing to survive their task of laying low, while we go on a wild chocobo chase for some Slaven legend that some delusional Bangaa is obsessed with oblitherating. Damn lizards."

Despite his exhaustion and the sour taste of vomit lingering in his mouth, Vaan managed to chuckle. "Someone's irritable," he prodded, and Balthier straightened his cuffs.

"I've every right to be," he muttered. "It wasn't my idea to babysit a desert bratling while hunting after a monolithic walking rock that a lizard holds a grudge for but possesses not the manhood to fell it himself."

Vaan's chuckle turned into a laugh. "Now I know why Fran hardly talks… you like the sound of your own voice without anyone saying anything to begin with."

Balthier's eyes narrowed and a smirk grew upon his features. "For someone who just retched up a disgusting Dalmascan delicacy, you sure have a lot to say."

"For someone who doesn't have a lot to talk about… you sure have a lot to say."

Balthier looked at Vaan. The boy was dirty, disheveled and sweaty in the darkening desert surrounding him, but his smile still held that boyish charm about him. He realized then that Vaan's company, despite how exhausting it could be, was at times worth it in rare bouts of amusement. There was something special about Vaan.

"Look," Vaan pointed, and Balthier tore his eyes from Vaan's bronzed, handsome form to look ahead towards the sight of the Nebra shore. A small boy stood in the distance by a wooden ferry, and upon seeing the approaching men from afar, waved them down until they met.

"You're back," the young boy said, staring up in wonder at the pirate and thief. "Are you back already? Did you get the Slavin? Why do you look so tired, Vaan?"

Balthier's ears were ringing already from the young boy's questions, and answered before Vaan could. "We request another night of rest before we find the mark. A trip back to the nomad village would do us well, if you would."

"Sure, of course! I'll get you guys there right away," the child said, and the three boarded the small ferry soon after.

The ride across the Nebra was short, as usual, and Vaan was nearly forced to vomit again as the boat rocked for those few minutes against the water. Wisely, Balthier stood his distance and gazed at the first few stars emerging from the sky.

Upon arriving in silence at the nomad village, Vaan thanked the young boy, a resident of the nomad village himself, and joined Balthier in his request for a spare room that night. After negotiating a price for two cots and two meals, as well as purchasing several potions, bandages and elixers, Balthier motioned Vaan to follow him.

"Wash up, eat something for the Gods' sakes, and rest. We will try again for this mark tomorrow, as we're well out of gil now, if ever," the pirate explained as they entered their large tent. Inside was a dimly lit oil lamp and two cots with fresh, folded sheets. Vaan shed his armor with audible relief, and wiggled his toes.

"How is your arm?" Balthier asked, seating himself upon the creaky cot. He winced; he would not sleep comfortable tonight. He missed the Strahl dearly.

Vaan shrugged – that hurt. "Uh, a little better. You bought bandages?"

"Indeed. However, you should clean that before we dress it," Balthier advised, and Vaan nodded. His whole body could've used a nice washing, and he felt especially filthy from the dried blood about his arm. Normally dirt and grime barely phased Vaan at all, but the urge to clean himself overpowered his urge to sleep at the moment.

"Okay. Im gonna go clean up."

"I will join you, as I am far from comfortable at the moment," Balthier replied. The two young men rose from their respective cots and exited the tent, their armor left behind in the dying light of the oil lamp.

They bathed in the moonlight behind the jagged rocks and crevices of the cliffs lining the Nebra. The water was lukewarm from soaking in the day's sun but the air was cold. Vaan felt goosebumps prickle at his skin as he submered himself neck-deep in the water. He hissed as his arm throbbed, and delicately he plucked off dried blood and sand from around the cuts. Worgens sucked, that was for sure, and the next time Vaan saw one he was going to summon Addrammalech and make the damn animals wish they were never born. His blonde hair floated upon the surface of the water and he looked up into the night sky, where a billion bright stars twinkled down upon the dark blue desert. Vaan smiled.

Across from him, several paces away, Balthier was soaking in the water in silence. Vaan peered at the pirate from the surface of the water and noted the way the moonlight snaked down the musculature of the pirate's back, painting the corners of his shoulder blades and snaking about his broad shoulders. Vaan felt his ears heat up and he dunked his head underwater just in time for Balthier to turn Vaan's way. The Rabanastran resurfaced moments later, further away from Balthier, and stood. He was feeling much more refreshed and his arm was clean – he was ready for food and rest, and hoped the next day would bring enough energy to take down that Slavin. Scratching his damp hair, Vaan trudged out of the water, unaware of the surreptitious gaze following his movements back to the dry clothes.

Balthier watched Vaan as he air-dried in the cold desert night. The outline of the young male's body was dark and hidden from sight by the shadows of the cliffs. Shifting his gaze from Vaan's form to the sky, Balthier let out a breath.

"The best place to see the stars," he said to Vaan, still gazing upwards, "is the Cerobi Steppe."

Vaan glanced over at Balthier. His glance turned into a stare. "Will we go there?" he asked, not really caring about the stars and more concentrated on the lines of moonlight against the pirate's back. Balthier lowered his gaze to Vaan and offered him a rare smile.

"But of course."

Vaan grinned in return. "Around here, the best place the see the stars is right where we're standing now. There are so many."

"I've seen more," Balthier replied, turning his eyes back upwards. Vaan shivered as a chill desert breeze blew by.

"I doubt it," Vaan said with a wry smile, and turned to head back to dry clothes and the tent.

Baltheir stayed in the Nebra for a few moments longer, gazing at the stars. They were bright and beautiful and there were many. There were certainly many stars that night surrounding him. And he began to doubt his claim about the Cerobi Steppe. Perhaps Vaan was right. This, too, was a beautiful place to see the stars, and Balthier couldn't imagine the sky being any fuller with them unless it was daytime, unless it was a giant star, unless it was the sun… unless it was as bright as the rings on his fingers, sifting through Vaan's hair in the afternoon light.


End file.
